


Incident at Uijeongbu

by Shadow_Maven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Maven/pseuds/Shadow_Maven
Summary: His assignment was to create a short-lived time traveling potion, but young Severus gets more than he bargained for when he finds himself lost and injured in the midst of the Korean War (Yep, you read that correctly: Korean War). Newfound friendships lead to surprising discoveries but when he returns to his own time--that is, IF he returns--will Severus remember the most important lesson of all?





	Incident at Uijeongbu

 

 

__

 

 

_"Incendio Eradicus!"_  

The blast from his wand sent the scrap of parchment flying across the room but watching it streak over the desks like a miniature, orange comet did nothing to lift young Severus' spirits that Saturday afternoon. They remained as bleak as the late November sky, and every bit as cold and heavy as the unrelenting shrouds of sleet that fell from it. Every icy ping against the potion classroom's arched windows reverberated through him like a stinging taunt, a testimony to his complete and utter failure. After numerous attempts, the potion still wasn't working, he didn't know how to make it work, and since he was someone who prided himself on mastery of all things academic, the  _not knowing_ about this  _particular_  thing was driving him mad.

Slumping over his workspace, Snape tucked his wand back into his robe and sighed. He had to create a potion that could briefly alter time--and with no reference materials, save those on the written list he'd just incinerated--by Monday morning. Monday! And this potion was no mere homework assignment but an  _entrance exam_. Having demonstrated some truly outstanding abilities in spell-casting and potion-making  during his short tenure at Hogwarts, fifteen year-old Severus was determined to be the youngest wizard in the school's history to enter Eclectic Elixirs. The  class, usually reserved for a handful of seventh year students, featured private lessons from Professor Dumbledore, himself! Now, thanks to a fit of pique, he'd just destroyed his only copy of the potion's recipe, which also meant he'd probably just forfeited any hope of entering the class next term. 

Recipe or no, failure was not an option.  He glared at his cauldron as he ran through the list of required ingredients in his mind. There were only five necessary for this potion, a simple mixture, really, as potions went,  and everything he needed -- or thought he needed -- was  _here_  -- right here in front of him! Professor Dumbledore had practically handed it to him on a platter! Snape pushed a stray lock of greasy black hair out of his eyes and rolled up his sleeves. Grabbing a fresh cauldron, a fellow classmate's from a nearby desk, he started from scratch yet again, hoping that his seventh time would be the charm. Carefully, just as he'd done so many times that morning, he measured his ingredients. Reverently, like a monk at vespers, he intoned the name of each before dropping it into the cauldron's belly of silence: "Belladonna tincture, extract of bedlam seed, equal parts finely powdered ruethorn, triphillium, and dreamweed...mix thoroughly, then simmer until reduced to a golden, viscid elixir. That's it. That's everything." 

He wiped his hands on his faded black robe. Opting to bow to a little wizarding superstition this time around--just in case there  _was_  some truth in that old saying that a watched cauldron never bubbled-- he shuffled to the shelves of ingredients at the back of the classroom. He'd left them in a sorry state. As he began stoppering bottles and returning them to their rightful places, he cast his thoughts back to Friday afternoon, when he'd been summoned from study hall to the professor's office.  

He'd always had what Muggles called a "photographic" memory, and as Snape retraced his steps from study hall to the professor's private quarters, he could hear his footsteps echoing down the long, silent corridor and feel his stomach flip-flop as he rode the rumble of spiral stairs to Dumbledore's office. As he stepped inside the office's lower level, the smell of fizzy lemon drops made his mouth water. An enormous bowl of them sat atop a table, just inside the door.  Mouth puckering, he winced as the small, sugar-coated candy didn't so much fizz as  _exploded_  into a sour froth in his mouth. Shaking this unpleasant memory away, he fast-recollected to his meeting, desperate to recall any clues Professor Dumbledore might have disclosed when he gave him the assignment. 

'Every ingredient you will need is listed here. Brewed correctly, one sip of Tempus Recuerdo will allow you to travel back in time--a few hours, a day at most. But a word of caution, Severus...'  Dumbledore, still chuckling over Snape's candy gaff, handed him the small piece of parchment. 'Take only the tiniest sip and before you do, remember to tether yourself to the present. The form this tether takes is up to you but make it as strong an anchor or lifelife as you can. The past is a slippery thing, Severus. Remember your tether.' 

Hands shaking, he nearly dropped an entire jar of bedlam seeds. He knew there  _had_  been something else, even though it still sounded like the professor's usual brand of friendly-but-cryptic advice.

Buoyed by this recollection, he left the shelves to check the latest mixture inside the cauldron, which should have been simmering by now. His shoulders sagged when he saw its contents. Tether or no, did it really matter? After hours of concocting, exhausting almost every possible combination of components, the potion still refused to be anything more than a lumpy gray custard that smelled like dirty feet!  Instead of simmering nicely, the blasted brew was barely bubbling!  "Why, why--WHY!" Impatient, Snape drew his wand and conjured stronger flames beneath the black iron pot.

As if to answer, another insult came from outside: a muted roar from the Quidditch Arena, where Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were battling it out in the semi-finals. The winner would play Slytherin in next week's championship game. Severus glanced at the window. Lily would be there today... Lily, with her red-gold hair and laughing eyes-- warm eyes, without cruelty or guile... Beautiful, tender, perfect Lily, whose voice was soft as spring rain... Severus pictured her sitting in the stands, the only point of color in a bleak landscape, cheeks red as apples and hair wreathed in frozen diadems... 

Then he remembered why she was at the game: James!She'd be watching James,  _waiting for James!_ Always James and never, ever, no matter how hard he tried --

_And never will, so never mind,_ said the sleet tapping on the windowpane.

His hand tightened on his wand, but the rest of him was shaking with cold rage. Leaning over the now-bubbling cauldron on the table, conjuring his rival's countenance in his mind's eye, he spat, "Damn you Potter! I'll show you! I'll show you all!" A bubble burst, splashing his robe, but he did not notice. As he continued his string of invectives, Severus also did not see one of the ragged ends of his green and silver-striped scarf slip into the cauldron. They quickly dissolved in the seething mixture, which immediately began to smell less like dirty feet and more like toffee.

Glancing down, an astonished Snape discovered a buttery-colored, bubbling brew. Hands trembling with excitement, he extracted the liquid with a glass dropper. Even in the long phial, its swirls were mesmerizing. "By gods, I did it! I really did it!" he cried. 

Dumbledore's warning echoed in his head,  _Take only the tiniest sip and tether yourself in the present..._

Sips and tethers be damned! Success belonged to the bold! Tossing all caution to the wind, Snape downed the contents of the entire dropper. The potion tasted like honey with just a hint of bitter beer. "Take that, Potter," he whispered.

The floor lurched suddenly, its flagstones undulating like solid waves of a strange and frozen sea. As he struggled for purchase, the rolling stopped, but then the room began to spin, the roar of a thousand Quidditch crowds filled his ears, and his throat burned with an unquenchable thirst. As the lights began to dim, coalescing down to a single point, a hovering pinprick star, mounting fear replaced his short-lived satisfaction. Clawing at his throat, Snape managed only a strangled, "Help me -- someone -- help!" before unseen hands pulled him into oblivion.

 

**______________________________xXx__________________________**

 

Cold, he was so very cold...lying on his back and barely breathing, covered head to toe in a crushing wall of winter, he could not move! Even his eyelids felt like slabs of stone. A series of whistling, whizzing, and popping noises filled the air around him. In the distance, a measured mechanical beating sound drew near.

_Fireworks,_ he thought. _I didn't go back in time at all!  I'm outside on the blasted lawn, the Quidditch game's just ended, and if I don't get back inside, I'll be a laughingstock! I must get back inside before they see--before Lily sees!_

Something landed close by, spraying his face with stony grit. Over his head now, the mechanical beating was unbearably loud.

No, these weren't fireworks. Snape opened his eyes. Above him, a roaring hulk blotted out the sun. Whirling black blades whipped the sky as it descended uncomfortably close to the barren field in which he lay. Staccato blasts erupted all around him and he heard the ping of metal ricocheting off metal. Snape moaned.

"Hurry up," an unfamiliar man's voice boomed. "Let's get him in!"

Hands came then. Rough hands, dirty hands,  _bloody_  hands. As they jostled and pulled and tugged at him, something--a spell?-- screamed past his ear. It hit someone else in the field, someone very near, a man in a drab green uniform. His throat erupted in a geyser of blood. Snape's stomach heaved. "No more, please...let me go," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"On my count," said another man, whose voice came from the vicinity of Severus' feet. "One, two-- three!"

"Just..go...let me," Snape moaned.

"Don't worry kid, you'll be okay." A hand his patted his shoulder, while other hands tightened thick straps across his legs and torso. In the cloud of smoke, he could not breathe, could not see! Metal grated against metal and bolts slid into place. Then, he heard someone say, "He's in! All clear! Take her up!"

More explosions and smells of acrid smoke followed. Then, Snape felt himself rising into the burning cold, the wind tearing at his face, with only the machine's rumble and the beat of its black wings to measure the distance between memory and dream as the battlefield of earth fell away.

 

**______________________________xXx__________________________**   

 

The sharp tang of rubbing alcohol and iodine stung his nose. Head throbbing, he turned away, only to discover a tray of eggs, coffee and burned toast on a small table. His stomach growled and his still-parched throat ached.  _I must be in the Infirmary,_  he thought ruefully.  _Oh, gods, I blew up the potions lab!_ How many windows and rare ingredients had he blown to smithereens? How would he ever pay for the damages? Most important: how could he keep his  _mother_  from finding out? Expecting to receive a lecture on the proper management of potentially volatile potions from a stern-faced Dumbledore, along with a string of demerits for destroying school property, Severus sat up. 

He was  _not_  in the school infirmary or anywhere near Hogwarts, for that matter.

The far wall of his room was made of a heavy canvas the color of sun-baked mud, as was the ceiling, which was held aloft by a wooden pole. Sheets on either side of him divided the sleeping quarters into narrow queues. Someone in the one next to him was moaning in his sleep.

"Hey, sleepy head, glad you're awake! We saved you a seat at the war while you were away," said a man with tousled black hair. Grabbing a low stool, he pulled up beside Snape's bed. Beard stubble stippled his chin and dark crescents bloomed beneath his eyes. His pants of faded cotton, whose color might have been green at some point in their life, were peppered with bloodstains, splashes of iodine, and a few other colors Snape didn't want to consider. Over these, the man wore a red chenille bathrobe. Like the pants, the bathrobe had also seen better days.

"War? Where am I? Who are you?" Snape's head protested loudly as he tried to get out of bed. A protest the inch of gauze wrapped around it did nothing to improve.

"Whoa! Easy does it there, kiddo!" Steadying Snape's thin shoulders with one arm, while popping a pillow behind his back with the other, the man in the bathrobe gently eased him back down. "One crack in your noggin is enough." Sitting back down and taking a clipboard from the foot of the cot, Bathrobe Man added, "You have a concussion, a real doozy." After scanning his clipboard, he said, "What's the last thing you remember before this?"

It seemed like something standing very far away in the fog, at first. "Oh, I -- Uh..." Snape shifted on the cot. "A crowd... Lily. I drank a potion..." his voice trailed off.

"Lily, huh? Strange name for a Geisha. Next time, stick to whiskey, kid. Trust me, those 'potions' of theirs will get you every time! You're lucky you're not on a slow boat to Shanghai right now."

"Is that what happened to you, too?" Snape asked.

Bathrobe Man's head shot up. "Me?"

Snape motioned towards the bathrobe. "You..."

The man looked stunned for a moment, and then burst into peals of laughter. "Oh, this? I was wearing it when the nice men from the draft board trapped me with their butterfly nets." Extending his hand, he added, "Name's Pierce. Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce, but call me Hawkeye. Everybody around here does."

Feeling extremely sheepish, Snape returned the gesture. "I'm Severus... Snape. Where am I, sir -- Hawkeye? What is this place?"

"This?" Making a sweeping gesture with open arms, Hawkeye said, "This, my friend, is the four-oh-double-seven army hospital, American owned and operated, and conveniently located at the corner of plague and pestilence in beautiful downtown South Korea."

At first, Snape couldn't believe his ears. He'd only just read about this conflict in Muggle Studies. "Korea?" He said incredulously, "You mean I'm in the middle of the Korean War?"

Hawkeye slowly nodded. "The only war in town. Welcome to Uijeongbu, Severus. Mind if I ask you a few more questions?"

"Wow, it's all so real!" He hadn't meant to say that last part. Trying to regroup, he rubbed his head. "Oh -- Ouch!"

Hawkeye clucked. "Yeah, unfortunately. Your head's going to feel about three sizes too big for a couple of days, but don't worry. I've ordered something for that, and I'll try to make these questions easy ones."

"Okay."

"So, first one: where are you from?"

He almost said, 'Hogwarts School of Wizardry,' but he couldn't tell Hawkeye the truth. "Uh, England. Spinner's End. It's near London," he hedged.

"Ah! Jolly Old England! Land of tea and crumpets, God Save the Queen, and Winston Churchill! That explains your accent," said Hawkeye. Next one: how old are you?"

"F-f--fifteen," Snape stuttered.

Pierce's face sagged. "Fifteen. They're getting younger every day." He rubbed his face, scribbled something on the clipboard, and then looked back at Snape. "Do your parents know you enlisted?"

Force of habit forced him to begin with, "It's just me and my mother," but then he regrouped. Bolting upright, Snape grabbed one of Hawkeye's sleeves. "Please don't tell her, she'd kill me if she knew! You won't tell her, will you?" Then, his grip slackened as the full reality of his situation hit. He'd  _done_  it: he'd traveled back in time! Over twenty years, if his grasp of Muggle history was correct. His mother, whose coldness and criticism had never failed to fill him with terror, would be a ten-year-old  _girl_  right now. A girl (and an ugly one, at that) who probably hadn't even come into her powers yet! The thought of her as a not-yet-witch made her much less terrifying. "My mother," he gasped, suddenly seized by a fit of hysterical giggles. 

Hawkeye shook his head. "Your secret's safe with me. Just promise that you'll do it eventually, and by 'eventually', I mean soon. Write her before you leave. Deal?"

Snape nodded. "I will, doctor, I promise."

Hawkeye squeezed Snape's arm. "Good! So, okay, Severus, last question before breakfast and this one's worth a million pounds: what unit are you with?"

Snape shook his head. "Unit?"

"Regiment? Battalion? Militia? Whatever the kids in Spinner's End are calling 'group of soldiers' these days."

Snape's cheeks burned. He suddenly found his ragged cuticles and dirty fingernails very interesting. "I-I'm sorry, Dr. Hawkeye...I don't think I belong here at all."

Hawkeye chuckled. "Who does? This is hell with rats, bad food, and hot and cold running dysentery."

"No, you don't understand, I'm not a soldier." Forcing himself to meet the doctor's gaze, he continued, "You see, sir, I think I'm kind of...lost."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Hawkeye said. "In fact, it's a relief. It would've been pretty hard for you to fight in a suit and cape, anyway."

"My -- my --!" Looking down, Snape was horrified to discover that his school uniform had been replaced with grayish cotton pajamas. "My clothes! Where are they? What have you --?"

Before he could finish the thought, the tent's wall rippled. A door opened. Dr. Pierce looked up and smiled. "Ah! Here's someone who can tell us."

"Captain Pierce! Our John Doe's belongings, washed and pressed to order."

At first glance, the profile, while stout, was unmistakably female, but the voice issuing from the lavender chiffon dress and matching wide-brimmed hat was decidedly  _male_ , as were the hairy arms protruding from its puffed sleeves. Snape's jaw dropped, his mouth forming the international symbol of utter befuddlement.

Hawkeye beamed. "Perfect timing, as usual, Klinger. Young Severus here was just asking about them. And might I say, you're looking particularly lovely this morning."

The lavender 'lady' curtsied. "Flattery will get you everywhere, sir."

"And you nowhere," Pierce quipped. "Severus, this is Corporal Klinger, our company fashion plate. But don't let the dress fool you: he's not as easy as he looks."

Klinger turned to face Snape. "Hi, kid! I brought your stuff. Suit, scarf, cape: it's all here." His high heels clicked as he approached the cot. Setting the pile of clothes at Snape's feet, he then drew something out of the cape, which was folded on top. "Think someone must've stolen your wallet and ID, but I did find this. Thought you might want to have it."

Snape gasped, "My wand! Yes! Thank you so much Mrs. Klinger--Corporal...uh, ma'am?"

Hawkeye put his head in hands. His shoulders heaved.

"Go ahead, laugh, doc! At least  _he_  shows some me respect!" Klinger pulled up a stool on the other side of the cot. "I like you already, kid," he said. "So, are you really a magician?"

He hated being called 'magician', but then, no one besides Lily had ever told him that they liked  _him_  before. Snape smiled weakly and nodded. "Something like that, yes."

"That's great! You know, my Uncle Omar was a hypnotist back in the Vaudeville days! He used to call himself the Toledo Wizard and --"

Pierce interrupted with, "Yeah, he could make you think you were a chicken, so when he stole your wallet, you couldn't turn him in!"

Ignoring him, Klinger leaned into Snape. "Hey, once you're feeling better, do you think you could put on a show for us?"

Before Snape could answer, something metal crashed behind the tent wall. The canvas shuddered.

"You can't go in there, sir! You're not sterile!" Said a boyish voice.

"Get out of my way, you little rodent, or I'll sterilize you with one finger." 

Snape slipped his wand beneath the covers, but his hand tightened on its shaft. "Klinger, Dr. Hawkeye," he asked anxiously, "what's that?"

The two men exchanged uneasy glances. "Bad news travels fast," said Klinger.

"Like the wind -- or in this case, like breaking wind." Hawkeye patted Snape's shoulder. "Too bad you aren't a real wizard," he whispered, "then you could make us all disappear!"

The swinging door flung open as two people stumbled through it: first came an armed officer with cruel, shifty eyes and clinging to him was a pint-sized boy, whose round glasses swung precariously from one stem.

"Don't worry, kid, we'll take care of him," Klinger whispered.

"Get off me, runt," the man huffed, "or I'll have you court-martialed for assaulting an officer!"

"Radar," Hawkeye interjected, "I think this would be a good time to call your mother."

Readjusting his hat and glasses, the boy said, "My mother, sir? But it's after midnight in Ottumwa."

"Your  _other_  mother, Radar."

"Sir?"

Hawkeye motioned to the door. "The one named  _Henry!_ "

The boy looked very confused for a moment. Then, his eyes widened. "Oh! Right! Yes, sir!" Turning too quickly, he crashed into the swinging door. "Rats! Oh, Geez! Gee Whiz!" Then, he was gone.

Smacking the clipboard against his thigh as he rose, Hawkeye said, "Ah, Colonel Flagg! To what do I owe the dishonor?"

The man hitched up his pants. A large pistol sat in a holster near his left hip. "I'll ask the questions here, Pierce," he growled. "Out of uniform as usual, I see. And you," he said, pointing to Klinger, "you're a disgrace to this man's army!"

Klinger puffed out his chest. "Colonel, I'll have you know this ensemble is imported! Special order, all the way from Harrods," he sniffed.

"It's true, sir," Snape stuttered. "My mother has one just like it."

Flagg glared at him. "You'll speak only when I tell you to, pipsqueak." Turning to Hawkeye, he said, "I'm here on official intelligence business."

"CIA, CID, or EIEIO," quipped Pierce.

"Joke all you want, Captain, but my sources say you're harboring an enemy spy." Flagg began pacing uneasily at the foot of the bed. "He was flown in last night, pretending to be wounded."

"Wounded? At a MASH unit? Well that certainly narrows the field," said Pierce.

Ignoring him, Flagg continued, "A man wearing a black cape and suit."

Snape gulped.

"He's a yellow Red menace, a pinko mole, and a master of disguise."

Pierce and Klinger exchanged an uneasy look. "You don't say," said Pierce. Placing his clipboard on the pile of conspicuous clothing, he leaned on it, hoping to hide it from Flagg. "Well, Colonel, I'm afraid you've come all the way out here for nothing. No one here but us red, white and blue Americans."

"I saw that." Flagg stopped pacing. "Hand it over, Pierce!"

"What? This old thing?"

Before Pierce could continue, Flagg ripped the cape from his hands. "Just as I suspected," he muttered. "Fraternizing with the enemy!" Fixing Snape with a piercing, bitter gaze, advancing on him, Flagg boomed, "You're coming with me!"

Pierce shot up, blocking Flagg's path. "Oh, no you don't! He's my patient and he and his cape are staying right here!"

"It's a robe," Snape corrected, although no one heard him.

Klinger shifted onto the cot, hiding Snape behind him. "Don't worry, kid," he shot over his shoulder, "we won't let anything bad happen to you."

Gesturing wildly, Pierce shouted, "Look at him, Flagg! He doesn't even look Chinese, for crying out loud!"

"Precisely. He doesn't look anything like himself, so of course, he is!" Tapping his temple with his index finger, Flagg said, "A clever disguise! I told you he was a mastermind. He fooled you all, but he doesn't fool me."

"No, you do a swell job of that all by yourself," said Pierce.

Peering around Klinger's back, Snape cried, "I'm not who you say I am, and I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"We'll see about that!" Flagg drew his pistol and pointed it at Klinger. "Get out of my way, you cross-dressing pinko lover, or I'll blast you to smithereens!"

He couldn't let anything happen to his new friend. Snape shot out of the covers before he had time to think. Shoving Klinger aside, flinging himself only inches away from the pistol's bore, he leveled his wand at Flagg and screamed,  _"Inflecto Contra!"_

A jet of blinding light erupted from the tip of the wand. It struck Flagg, enveloping him in thick tendrils of swirling green. The gun flew from his hand.

At the same time, the door to the Post-Op ward opened, and Henry Blake charged into the room. The flying gun hit him squarely in the chest. Shocked and terrified, the Lieutenant Colonel bobbled it in his hands before finally flinging it into the dirty linen hamper with a disgusted shriek.

"Whoa, kid," gasped Klinger, whose hat brim had not weathered Flagg's almost-attack and now drooped below his chin. "That was some trick!"

"Uh huh," was all an equally confounded Hawkeye could manage.

Snape, however, did not reply.

"What in the blue blazes is going on here," Blake spluttered. Charging over to the huddled body on the floor, he boomed, "Colonel Flagg! I expect an explanation right now!"

Flagg said nothing. Arms and legs twitching, back heaving, he looked as one in the throes of a soundless seizure.

"Did you hear me, Flagg?" Reaching down, Henry tugged at Flagg's shoulder.

"D-d-d-don't touch me," Flagg whimpered, his voice having lost all of its former bluster.

Pierce and Blake exchanged confused looks. "Colonel?" Pierce crouched at his side, but Flagg only curled deeper into himself. To Pierce, he seemed to have grown somehow smaller in his defeat. "Sam? Sam, look at me. Are you alright?" He looked up at Colonel Blake. "Henry, help me roll him on his back, would you."

"No!" cried Flagg, in a voice that still didn't sound like his. "Don't touch me! Don't look at me!"

"Sorry, but we're doctors. Touchy-feely's what we do," said Hawkeye. "Ready Henry? On three: one, two --"

Henry whistled through his teeth. "Heavens to Murgatroid! That's the worst disguise I've ever seen!"

Staring up at him was Flagg's tear-stained face, only framed by a chin length bob and a fringe of jet-black bangs. His uniform seemed about three sizes too big for his frame, which was now slight, except for the pair of large, uneven breasts inside his uniform top.

"Get off me," he screamed. His voice seemed to be growing higher in pitch and more feminine with every word he spoke. Scrambling to his knees, Flagg pointed at the cot and yowled, "It's him, that stupid kid! It's all his fault!"

"What kid?" said Henry, pointing to an empty cot.

Klinger gawked at Hawkeye, who only shrugged. "I didn't see any kid. Did you see a kid around here, Klinger?"

Snape's clothes lay strewn on the end of the bed. Klinger plunked himself down on top of them. "Uh ... nope," Klinger stammered. "Not a one, sir!"

"He was right here and you know it!" Flagg pounded the cot with  _her_  now-tiny fists. "He pointed his stick at me! You all saw!" Her voice trailed off into pathetic sobs, while her pendulous breasts heaved with every chocked moan and hitch.

"Sorry, Samantha," said Pierce, "but I'm blind in both enemy eyes."

"Hoo-Dogies! This looks like one for Sydney," Henry clucked.

"Or  _Weird Tales_ magazine," said Hawkeye.

"Hawk, where do you think the kid went," asked Klinger.

"Probably hiding, and can't say I blame him. He'll come out when he's ready," said Pierce, but his eyes were doubtful.

"Hey, Hawk? How do you explain the --?" Klinger waved an invisible wand.

"Ah, Klinger!" Hawkeye slapped him amicably on the back. "The answer to that question is a mystery! A mystery with a two drink minimum and a five dollar ante."

Klinger regarded him skeptically, "It's a little early for that, don't you think, Captain?"

"It's always five o'clock somewhere," Pierce sagely replied.

Klinger nodded. "Gotcha and right behind you!"

 

**______________________________xXx__________________________**   

 

The moment he'd cast the spell, the same dreadful cold he'd felt in the Potions lab swept back over him. At the same time, a force began pulling him, reeling him in, as if an invisible fishhook had imbedded itself in his heart. Instead of falling, he was now sliding through a blur of space and time. Snape felt like he was going to be sick.

Speed and motion ceased when he landed on something hard.

"This is remarkable," said a familiar mellow voice. "Truly remarkable."

Severus opened his eyes and cautiously glanced to either side. The tent was gone and he was lying on the wide, cool slabs of--

The Potions Lab! He was home! Scrambling to his feet, he found Albus Dumbledore sitting at the lab table. Holding a phial of Snape's potion to the light, Dumbledore smiled as he watched the golden tendrils swirl and twist inside it like clouds of a miniature galaxy. An empty bag of caramel popcorn, standard snack fare at all Quidditch games, lay crumpled on the table beside him. Outside, sleet still pinged its assault against the windowpanes, but the light was lower. "It's still Saturday?" Snape asked incredulously.

"It is, indeed, Severus. Welcome back." Turning to his newly-returned student, Dumbledore's eyes widened as he took in Snape's bandaged head and vintage, army-issue sleepwear. "It looks like  _you've_ had quite an adventure, my boy."

"I have, Professor! You won't believe where I've been! I can hardly believe it, myself!" Breathlessly, Snape recounted being air-lifted out of a war zone, regaining consciousness at an American mobile army hospital in the middle of Korea, and the kindness his strange but wonderful new acquaintances had shown him. Wisely, he omitted the part about Colonel Flagg, the gun, and the charm he'd used to disarm him.

_Inflecto Contra_... Certain he'd never heard of itbefore, Snape made a mental note to research its origins and effects as soon as possible. Could he replicate it when not under duress? Were there other disarmament spells that would leave an attacker vulnerable, but unharmed? Then, another thought intruded. What if  _he_ were the spell's creator? Enchantment overtook him, flinging open another door upon another dim and uncharted vista, but this journey's winding path was not to the past, but the future:  _his_  future.

"Severus?" Dumbledore's mellow tones calling him back from the breach of possibility. "Severus?"

Startled, Snape began, "I'm sorry, professor, I was just thinking," he trailed off.

"About the war? The officers? Well, it's only natural that you should feel concerned." Dumbledore laid the phial on the table and shifted in his seat. Clasping his hands in his lap, he added, "Very mature of you, as well, Severus. Again, I am most impressed."

Feeling more than a little ashamed, Snape hung his head, letting his overgrown oily bangs shield his eyes. "They were so kind, Professor, making me feel like I belonged there, when they didn't even know me at all. I think, if I'd stayed, we'd have -- have -- been --" His eyes watered and the word stopped in his throat.

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Friends?"

"Yes.. With them, I-I-I was--" 

Dumbledore lay a hand on his arm. "You were what, Severus?"

"Ha-ah-ha-- Happy." Tears came then. Embarassed, Snape turned away.

"Then you must hold on to this memory, Severus," Dumbledore began. "A memory, especially a happy one, is like a rare and precious jewel. Keep it safe in your heart and treasure it completely. Few know what the future holds. You may find it a comfort in the days to come."

Shifting uneasily, Snape wiped his nose on his pajama sleeve. "I feel a little sick to my stomach, sir. Does the potion always make you feel this way?"

Stroking the phial reverently with one finger, Dumbledore softly replied, "I couldn't tell you, Severus. No other student has ever managed to make it successfully before today. It's that bit about the tether they always leave off. We will have much to discuss in Eclectic Elixirs next term."

"What? Wait, Professor Dumbledore, you mean--?" Once out of his mouth, the words seemed to hang in the air while he receded, becoming a glowing speck on the horizon of an unnamed distance.

"Severus! Here, here, my boy, you'd better sit down." Strong thin fingers grasped his shoulder, while a hand at the small of his back guided him into to a chair. "I must say, Severus, incorporating Miss Evans's cauldron was a most inspired choice of tether on your part. I don't believe a student has ever interpreted that piece of advice quite so  _literally_." Patting him on the back, Dumbledore said with a wink, "A bold move, Severus, eschewing the metaphoric for the concrete. Brilliant, actually."

"Lily's cauldron?" At the mention of her name, Snape snapped back to attention. He couldn't wait to tell her about his potion (and rub Potter's nose in it, just for good measure).  _His_  potion! Heart bursting with pride, he imagined regaling Lily with his adventures at the 4077th MASH. Alone with her, he would leave off nothing. How proud of him she would be! Smiling sweetly, she would squeeze his hand, call him her brave soldier, and lay her head on his shoulder. And if, by chance, his lips just happened to graze her soft cheek...

Dumbledore intruded on his reverie. "Lily's, yes." Nodding, he ran his fingers around the cauldron's rim. "She was at the Quidditch game today, you know. Quite a bit of excitement there was, too! Poor girl slipped and fell out of the topmost stand during the game. If James hadn't swooped down to catch her when he did..." Clucking, Dumbledore shook his head. "Well, all's well that ends well, though I'm afraid Slytherin is going to have some stiff competition from Gryffindor for the Cup next week."

The name was an ice water damper on the last slim flicker of hope in his heart.  _Potter!_ Always, that simpering idiot, Potter! Snape balled his hands into fists. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how good he was, some things  _never_ changed!

 

**______________________________Epilogue__________________________**   

 

The officers at the 4077th never saw Severus Snape again.

Colonel Flagg's symptomatology, along with its equally compelling alterations in physiognomy, was attributed to extreme hormonal imbalances precipitated by combat fatigue. At least that was the  _official_ psychiatric diagnosis, and if Dr. Pierce thought differently on the matter, for once, he kept his opinions to himself. Flagg eventually recovered from his strange affliction, but not before Dr. Sidney Freedman sent him to a Tokyo sanitarium for a month's stay.

Much as Severus had suspected, there was no record of the  _Inflecto Contra_ charm in any of the library's magical archives. Snape later refined it and invented another disarming counterattack:  _Expelliarmus_.

Years later, Professor Dumbledore, whilst thumbing through  _An Illustrated Companion of Muggle History_ one blustery winter's day, made a surprising discovery: a photograph. And while it instantly validated a certain pupil's talent and experience, the picture also instilled in him an untold sadness (and if truth be told, more than a little dread). In it, Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger of the 4077th M.A.S.H posed with his fellow comrades outside the hospital's main surgical tent. Around his neck was a tattered scarf with a Slytherin insignia upon it and over his combat uniform, a faded robe. Sinking back into his favorite armchair, Professor Dumbledore stared at the photograph for a long time. A gust of wind battered the mullioned windows. In the fireplace, a log collapsed with a long, serpentine hiss. "A tether to the present... Oh, Corporal Klinger, what a fool I was," Dumbledore murmured. Tears stained the book's glossy pages as he whispered, "Now the eye of war stares unflinchingly upon our world and Severus has joined an army, too. An army of sorts..." Holding the open book against his heart, shifting his gaze to the gathering storm outside the window, Dumbledore whispered, "I only hope the part of you still living in him will prevail and send him safely home."

**/The End**

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the rights to one of the greatest fantasy series or one of the greatest TV ensemble productions of all time, which began as a novel. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Richard Hooker, respectively.


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